


all for you and none for myself

by bowlingfornerds



Series: tumblr prompts [27]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Canon Universe, Established Relationship, F/M, Hunting trip, Medical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 11:54:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5455598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowlingfornerds/pseuds/bowlingfornerds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was prompted on tumblr by trashmurphy: Hey, how about a 100 pairing of your choice with the following post as a prompt?<br/>Prompt:</p><p>I have a funny way</p><p>of mending people’s wounds</p><p>while my own drip</p><p>crimson puddles</p><p>on the floor</p><p>-          e.k.</p><p>Clarke is injured, but when Bellamy is too, she forgets about her own pain to focus on his instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all for you and none for myself

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't posted in like a month!  
> Woo  
> So, really, I have three things to blame:  
> 1\. I hit 55 fics, and when you hit something like that, there's an inspiration loss, and I kind of felt like I didn't need to write anymore, even if I wanted to, because I'd done so many.  
> 2\. I haven't been reading as much fan fiction lately, because I lost interest a little. This happens to everyone, I think, and I knew it would happen eventually. I don't know if I'll get back into it, but I'm still here anyway.  
> 3\. I made a new friend and literally all of my time goes into talking/hanging out with them, that was previously dedicated to fan fic writing time. Blame Cal.
> 
> Not beta'd or particularly edited. All mistakes are my own.
> 
> Otherwise, please enjoy the fic I wrote to get over my writers block!

_I have a funny way_

_of mending people’s wounds_

_while my own drip_

_crimson puddles_

_on the floor_

_-          e.k._

Bellamy didn’t mean to have a run in with a boar, but there he was anyway. He never knew that his shooting was off when something was running at him, and while he once heard that eye sight was better when the person was afraid, he found his vision blurring. Bellamy was then sprawled on the floor, the boar in his direct eye line, a pain growing in his side. There were gunshots – he wasn’t sure if his own was just spraying the trees, but then the boar was heavy on his chest, unmoving, the last breath slipping out slowly.

There were shouts, as the pain in his stomach grew unbearable. The dead pig was pushed off of him, rolling into the grass while the world before him shook. Straight above him, trees jutted up into the sky, but he couldn’t tell where one stopped and another began. Right in front was the bright white light of the sky; was it noon? He couldn’t tell; but there were faces, moving in and out of his line of sight, and he felt hands, pressing on his stomach, over his pain – but they started to vanish just like the trees did above him.

Their words became distant and his eyes flitted shut; the white light being replaced with the dark. He liked it there, he absently realised, as his head swam in the depths of his sleep. He had always hated the dark; hated the way it could box in Octavia, hated the way it left too much to the imagination – but suddenly Bellamy was finding comfort in the black that surrounded him. It felt warm, fuzzy, like a comfortable blanket being draped around his shoulders as he reclined back. There wasn’t a pain in his stomach there, either.

When he woke, his girlfriend’s face was above him, watching him warily as if he might disappear if she looked away. Bellamy tried for a smile, but he found himself groaning instead; the pain rushing back to him without giving him time to breathe.

It was a stabbing sensation – and he had been stabbed before – like there was a chunk of his body missing. Clarke quickly ducked out from his sight, and he was greeted with the fluorescent lights and metal ceiling of the Ark. Camp Jaha’s confining walls surrounded him, and for the first time, he liked it more than the wall of trees he had faced the last time he had opened his eyes.

He tried to sit up, looking for Clarke, but the pain in his stomach – his side, his everywhere – grew, so he lowered himself back onto the cot.

“Come on, Bell,” Clarke whispered gently.

She injected something into his arm, and Bellamy watched her placed the needle in a tray and pick up a damp cloth, turning back to him. His arm started feeling warm, and he frowned at it, confused.

“It’s morphine,” she told him quietly. “We already gave you some earlier – but you’re in a lot of pain.”

“You shouldn’t waste the supplies,” Bellamy replied, his voice hoarse. Clarke lay the damp cloth on his forehead, and he momentarily closed his eyes, thankful for the coolness that fought the heat across his skin. When he opened his eyes again, Clarke held a small metal cup in her hands. She leant forward, cupping the back of his head and holding the drink to his lips.

“It’s water,” she said, tilting the cup. He drank greedily; swallowing it all and tipping his head back against the cot afterwards, wishing there had been more. He looked over to her, trying to smile again.

“Thank you.” Clarke nodded.

“Of course, Bell. Just don’t go getting into more fights with boars, alright?” Bellamy grimaced, looking away for a moment. They were alone in the med bay, he realised – neither Jackson nor Abby were present, and he seemed to be the only patient.

“How bad is it?” He asked, nodding down to his stomach. The morphine had numbed the pain, but not enough. Bellamy wondered if in the life before the bombs – before space – they would administer such a small amount of pain killers. He bet they wouldn’t have – he bet they had plenty of supplies to waste; enough to go around and make sure people couldn’t feel the discomfort of their injuries.

“I think it’s a little more than a surface wound, really,” Clarke replied, her hand smoothing out the bandages away from the wound. Even through the cloth, Bellamy could feel her hands against his skin; his nerves always reacting for her; clamouring to be closer. “The tusk pierced the skin, but it didn’t damage any of your organs. You’ll be in a lot of pain, but you should be fine.”

Bellamy nodded, turning his attention to the lights above his head again. He stared at them until funny colours danced across his eyes, and when he blinked, pink and blue spots clouded his vision.

“You really scared me,” Clarke whispered, sitting on the edge of the cot, now. Her hand stroked at his cheek, carding her fingers through his hair. She smiled sadly, rubbing her thumb around his cheekbone in small circles.

“I’m sorry,” he replied quietly. Clarke nodded, leaning down and pressing a gentle, slow kiss to his lips. When she pulled away, he smiled. Bellamy took her in for a moment; her golden hair, tied back in a braid like it was on that first day on Earth, her bright blue eyes not dimmed at all by the darkness she had seen. Her skin was as pale as always; her hands as smooth. Her clothes were mainly like those of the Arkers, but he recognised the jacket as being one of the Grounders. He also noticed, however, the bandage peeking out from under her neckline.

Bellamy attempted to sit up, ignoring the pain flaring suddenly in his stomach. He moved to move back her jacket as she pulled back.

“Clarke, what is that?” He asked.

“It’s nothing,” she replied, dragging her hand back. Bellamy’s grip was stronger, however, and he didn’t catch the wince of pain as he pushed back her jacket to the side.

“What happened?” Bellamy questioned, looking up from the bandage. It seemed to engulf the top half of her torso; wrapping around from one shoulder to under her arm. Where he gently moved back the edge of her shirt, the bandage was seeping red. When he moved his hands, Bellamy could see a sticky red coating his fingertips. Clarke glanced at his hands, sighing. She pulled away and moved to find another cloth.

“While you were out hunting this morning,” Clarke started to explain, as she wandered back over. “There was a misfire with one of the guard cadets. It went straight through, no hassle.” Bellamy’s eye brows shot up, and unfortunately, his body did, too. He gasped with pain as Clarke helped him lay down again, frowning.

“You were shot,” he said, shaking his head. Clarke nodded, matter-of-factly. “Why are you working in the med bay?” She rolled her eyes.

“It was a gunshot, not a boar,” Clarke replied. “I’m fine.”

“You’re still bleeding.”

“I was shot, Bell, of course I’m still bleeding.” Bellamy shook his head once more.

“Are you okay?” He asked quietly. Clarke shrugged, and this time, Bellamy caught the wince. Clarke composed herself before wiping at the blood on his hands, though.

“I’m fine,” she told him, but he guessed it was a lie. “You, however, aren’t. We should focus on that instead.” Bellamy wondered if Clarke thought she couldn’t be injured – she didn’t have the time to be. He wondered if she would ever take a day off – if she thought she deserved one. He said nothing like this out loud, though, and watched her wash the rag in a bowl of water, before someone else limped into the med bay. Clarke immediately rushed to their side, taking their weight on her shoulder, and swallowing the pain.

When the new patient was in a bed, Bellamy sighed. “I love you,” he told her, loudly enough for her to hear from the other side of the room. He saw her glance over, smiling, nodding, before going back to her work.

“I love you too, Bell,” she replied. He wondered, though, how much she loved herself.

**Author's Note:**

> AYE, remember the dynamic duo? Comments and kudos? I would love to hear what you think, especially as I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing.
> 
> As a separate update, I've officially sent off my university applications! So there are placed around England finding out that I want to study Creative Writing with them - which is actually pretty scary. So, please, send out some good vibes for some good responses for me? Thanks!


End file.
